


Xenarah's Experiment Profiles

by OmittedSiren



Series: Xenarah's Experiment [1]
Category: Xenarah's Experiment
Genre: Angels, Based On a D&D Game, Dark Past, Demons, Dragons, Gods, I want to make a web comic, Magic, Other, Please Don't Hate Me, Welcome to my crap mind, i will add more - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 21:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmittedSiren/pseuds/OmittedSiren
Summary: This is an assortment of many of my characters from a homebrew D&D I made a few years back. I was inspired by many of the characters I created and actually wrote stories explaining their first creation and or appearance, to better set the mood. If you like it please let me know.





	1. Index of Characters

Welcome to my crap writing style. 

My D&D is a dark one, It can be filled with dick jokes and laughter but underneath all the characters can feel a burning pain that is hard to understand. I write these stories with each character having a messed up past so people can look at them and relate. I started this to help people with depression. Nothing helps depression or heart ache like escaping into a fantasy world. I have many characters and will write stories for each and every one. If you enjoy please let me know.

1\. Puppet (Crafted Perfection)  
When a man sees the timeline is doomed he crafts a tool to help protect the future he won't be a part of.


	2. Crafted Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Puppet, a crafted machine designed with the purpose to protect the future.

The boy sits against the wall, his legs in front of him, he is wearing tan pants, a slight contrast to the pale skin he has. If you could call that skin. He knows it is nothing more than a carefully crafted cloth covering metal and wooden cogs that make up his joints and bones. He is crafted perfection. He sits on a workbench, unable to move. He is not permitted. Nothing more than an unnamed toy. His shirt is a white button up, matching the color of the soft clouds in the sky. Not that he had ever seen the clouds, or sky for that matter. He is young. He is new. Recently crafted by his maker. He can't move his eyes, he can't move his arms, legs, nothing. Unable to move.

He is in every sense of the word, crafted perfection. Meant to be able to be upgraded, modded, molded into whatever is needed for the task. His bones are made of a thick solid wood, the same wood used to help hold up blood iron long swords, this wood, coated in an icy blue metal, the likes the world has never seen. The gears are carefully placed in the common places of joints, such as the knees or the wrists. His hands sit carefully folded in his lap. His left palm touching the back of his right hand. If you glanced at him he seems like a normal human. In his early 20's, his pants held up by black suspenders, standing out against the pure white shirt. He knows he is unable to remove the suspenders.

Even if he could move the clothes are carefully sewn together, the back shirt untucks and unzips between the two straps of suspenders, exposing his back and the only place that breaks the facade of having a normal body. There in the center of his back is a panel that opens and shows two slots filled, one is filled with a beautiful icy blue cylinder, the other a solid block of wood, above both of the cylinders like two carefully crafted runes. To the right of these slots lie 5 empty ones. This is how he gets his power, empty now but once filled he could be quite devastating. Below all of this likes a hole that seems to fit. Not like it has any purpose, but the boy knows this is false. 

Inside of his right pocket lies the key to his movement, if the key is placed into his back he may move freely and do as he wish. The boy carefully crafted in such a way he seems more human that the programs walking around. He was built to have emotion, gain memories, love, lose, but most fascinating of all, his creator has managed to craft the perfect soul, his creator without the power of a lord, or even nature father was able to craft an artificial soul. Only the reapers could sense his fault. 

He sits on his workbench staring at the wall he has stared at for so long. The way the pattern of the wood sways reminds him of his joints, the way they are so beautifully placed. All the care and appreciation that went into the artificial boy. He sits waiting patiently for his creator to return and allow him the grace of movement. He holds no grudge for being placed on the bench. He is comfortable, he won't age so he could sit here for an eternity. 

He is smiling inside, it would be outside should his body allow it, but no such luck. His creator is a unique man. Pale skin, scales flowing like a river starting at the corner of each eye reaching towards his ears. His head half shaven. The eyes of a dragon, piercing into the very souls of those who looks at him. He is terrifyingly beautiful. People flee in fear of the man's appearance and power, but the manufactured man knows otherwise, he is a kind soul, with a mind so powerful he was able to craft life. His creator was able to craft something so beautiful and elegant. 

The manufactured man is thankful to his creator to allow it to be him. Allow him the ability to have life. He cares not he is a prototype. Days pass and his creator never comes back. Where has he gone? Is he ok? What has happened to him? Days turn to months without the word or presence of his creator. What happened to him? Is he ok? He can do nothing but watch on in horror at his legs, slowly the carefully made skin is falling apart. The wood he stares at is slowly decaying. He can't move, he can't help it, he can do nothing but wait for his creator to come back. 

The manufactured man has lost count of the years, decades that had passed. He doesn’t know how long he has sat on that bench, now the bench has been destroyed, withered away from underneath the man. He sits on the concrete ground, watching the vines grow, slipping between his gears holding him in place, all that is visible of the man now is two beautiful sapphire eyes. Glowing from beneath the vines that had claimed his body. He waits, maybe someone can come and save him.


End file.
